Reading the Christmas story
Crafts!
Christmas cookies!
Shepherd's Stew on Christmas Eve
Giving a portion to people who have less
Funky Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and American Folk Songs for Christmas
Obtaining and hanging mistletoe (MOM!)
Reading the Best Christmas Pageant Ever, a chapter per night, leading up to Christmas
Elf and It's a Wonderful Life.
"Mother of God" by Yeats, first introduced to me in this post by a friend to whom I am indebted for drawing it to my attention...and for so many more things than I can ever name!
Calling family on Christmas
Lighting candles
Gazing at the Christmas tree
Watching the kids bounce from overwhelmed joy to thankfulness on Christmas morning
The annual family Christmas photo that never makes it out until Christmas Eve or after
On an unrelated note, my friend Kristin Conradi shared with me an old Norwegian saying that I will share with you:
There's no bad weather; only bad sweaters.
Thank you, dear Norway. I love you vicariously through loving my dear Norwegian friend.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Saturday / The Anatomical Shut-Down
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| Playing "Playmobopoly": Monopoly plus Playmobil = BIG FUN. The big piles of money and deeds didn't make it into the photo this time. |
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| Watching a train roll by on Saturday |
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| Looks innocent: a mere bowl atop some books |
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| On closer inspection: R Tracks. Three...maybe four days old. Yes, those are Cheetos. |
Above is a selection of recent family goings-on. I love finding R Tracks.
I don't normally get involved in online conversations, unless my amazing and talented friends have shared something of their own (See: poem by Sarah Park, "Resolution").
Friday, January 25, 2013
The English Patient
I usually don't write about the guilty pleasure of reading a novel, snatched between necessary activities, but this book is exceptional. Like poetry, this book makes me hungry for it between-times. Here:
"They talk, the slight singsong of his voice within the canvas smell of their tent, which has been his all through the Italian campaign, which he reaches up to touch with his slight fingers as if it too belonged to his body, a khaki wing he folds over himself during the night."
And: "But I never imagine Herodotus this way. I see him more as one of those spare men of the desert who travel from oasis to oasis, trading legends as if it is the exchange of seeds, consuming everything without suspicion, placing together a mirage."
"She sniffs the stone, the cool moth smell of it."
In the Sistine Chapel: "They were under the huge vault. The sergeant lit a flare, and the sapper lay on the floor and looked up through the rifle's telescope, looked at the ochre faces as if he were searching for a brother in the crowd. The cross hairs shook along the biblical figures, the light dousing the coloured vestments and flesh darkened by hundreds of years of oil and candle smoke."
Now, pictures:
"They talk, the slight singsong of his voice within the canvas smell of their tent, which has been his all through the Italian campaign, which he reaches up to touch with his slight fingers as if it too belonged to his body, a khaki wing he folds over himself during the night."
And: "But I never imagine Herodotus this way. I see him more as one of those spare men of the desert who travel from oasis to oasis, trading legends as if it is the exchange of seeds, consuming everything without suspicion, placing together a mirage."
"She sniffs the stone, the cool moth smell of it."
In the Sistine Chapel: "They were under the huge vault. The sergeant lit a flare, and the sapper lay on the floor and looked up through the rifle's telescope, looked at the ochre faces as if he were searching for a brother in the crowd. The cross hairs shook along the biblical figures, the light dousing the coloured vestments and flesh darkened by hundreds of years of oil and candle smoke."
Now, pictures:
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| Getting ready for school |
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| Biking KidM: candid |
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| "EYE." |
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| KidV's reading nest |
Giving Thanks
For Grandma Polly, who told me: do not be afraid of tears. And who took me on a bike ride every day at a really important time. Who told me about getting counseling when Jack died, and how much it helped her. Who bobbed her foot up and down as she held a stemless wine glass and laughed with friends. Who kept a funny book. Who told the same story better every time. "Now, JUMP, Mama!"
For Dr. Schwartz, who wears shorts when he gets home. Who loves the physical exam. Who was the first person besides me to communicate with my daughters by email.
For Susan, whose inexorable logic and staunch acceptance of reality-as-it-is has been my brain for me so often that she's almost taught me how to do it myself. Who gives goats their AM and PM meds. My good friend, Spotted Face.
For Mazie, who sings along with the Seeger Family. Who laughs at embarrassment. Who makes me laugh so hard first thing in the morning: "Mama, I'm a tickle-neck!"
For Vivian, who loves to pull her pants up high and dance around. Who finds reasons to hug. Who nests. Who wept last night over not getting to read The Hobbit.
For Ira L, who raises the bar.
For Adeolu, who makes beauty with her hands - quickly, on the mark. Who sings "Sweet Lamb" and dances along. Who sparkles with her eyes. Who drives a race car every day, somehow. Who tells it like it is.
For Miss LJ, who brings beauty, sweetness, and love with her wherever she goes. Who sings like a strong, strong angel. Who dances like nobody's watching. Who loves a man who loves to find things. Who puzzles through a human.
For Pete, who works on Saturdays and walks two small dogs every day and analyzes plot lines while learning new chords. Who works the grill in 105F weather without complaining even one time. Who first taught me about being cool. And then gave me a really hard time about how cool I came to be. Who helped me grow up with Vince Guaraldi, Steely Dan, Miles Davis, Led Zeppelin and Sade in the background.
For Richie, who finds just the right type of monkey to draw. Who bakes turkey and shares it. Who gets up and feeds a dog he can't stand right now. Who loves the dog anyway.
For Grandpa Jan, who adores waterfalls as well as Irish Wolfhounds. Who has a conductor's wand just to add veracity to his shadow-conducting. Who loves a good after-dinner Brandy. Who taught me chess and craps.
For my Pop-pop. Pop-pop who taught me fishing, weather, birds, fiddler crabs, math, making dill pickles and peach preserves. He taught me not being in the picture, taking the picture with your mind. Whose quiet ways preceded his loud voice. Whose boot-clad form I saw every morning at 6 a.m. spreading birdseed in the back yard.
For Kristin, who works and plays in equal measure. Springsteen in her heart and work on her hands, she wears it all gracefully. Singing Happy Birthday in Norwegian. Miss Karate!
For Sarah, strength and grace incarnate. Humbler than humble. Pleads with me for my own sake. Who pets a parakeet's nose feathers out of the way because he likes it.
For mom, who sends poodle skirts our way and helps out at Baby Pantry and dresses as a zombie clown. Nothing scarier or cuter. In the whole world. Mom, who popped me out like a little guppie. Who embarrassed the hell out of me in the mall. My small, strong, sailor-mouthed mommy, who will ever be warm and tan in my mind's eye. But who needs to stay the hell away from the tanning booth, dammit.
For Dr. Schwartz, who wears shorts when he gets home. Who loves the physical exam. Who was the first person besides me to communicate with my daughters by email.
For Susan, whose inexorable logic and staunch acceptance of reality-as-it-is has been my brain for me so often that she's almost taught me how to do it myself. Who gives goats their AM and PM meds. My good friend, Spotted Face.
For Mazie, who sings along with the Seeger Family. Who laughs at embarrassment. Who makes me laugh so hard first thing in the morning: "Mama, I'm a tickle-neck!"
For Vivian, who loves to pull her pants up high and dance around. Who finds reasons to hug. Who nests. Who wept last night over not getting to read The Hobbit.
For Ira L, who raises the bar.
For Adeolu, who makes beauty with her hands - quickly, on the mark. Who sings "Sweet Lamb" and dances along. Who sparkles with her eyes. Who drives a race car every day, somehow. Who tells it like it is.
For Miss LJ, who brings beauty, sweetness, and love with her wherever she goes. Who sings like a strong, strong angel. Who dances like nobody's watching. Who loves a man who loves to find things. Who puzzles through a human.
For Pete, who works on Saturdays and walks two small dogs every day and analyzes plot lines while learning new chords. Who works the grill in 105F weather without complaining even one time. Who first taught me about being cool. And then gave me a really hard time about how cool I came to be. Who helped me grow up with Vince Guaraldi, Steely Dan, Miles Davis, Led Zeppelin and Sade in the background.
For Richie, who finds just the right type of monkey to draw. Who bakes turkey and shares it. Who gets up and feeds a dog he can't stand right now. Who loves the dog anyway.
For Grandpa Jan, who adores waterfalls as well as Irish Wolfhounds. Who has a conductor's wand just to add veracity to his shadow-conducting. Who loves a good after-dinner Brandy. Who taught me chess and craps.
For my Pop-pop. Pop-pop who taught me fishing, weather, birds, fiddler crabs, math, making dill pickles and peach preserves. He taught me not being in the picture, taking the picture with your mind. Whose quiet ways preceded his loud voice. Whose boot-clad form I saw every morning at 6 a.m. spreading birdseed in the back yard.
For Kristin, who works and plays in equal measure. Springsteen in her heart and work on her hands, she wears it all gracefully. Singing Happy Birthday in Norwegian. Miss Karate!
For Sarah, strength and grace incarnate. Humbler than humble. Pleads with me for my own sake. Who pets a parakeet's nose feathers out of the way because he likes it.
For mom, who sends poodle skirts our way and helps out at Baby Pantry and dresses as a zombie clown. Nothing scarier or cuter. In the whole world. Mom, who popped me out like a little guppie. Who embarrassed the hell out of me in the mall. My small, strong, sailor-mouthed mommy, who will ever be warm and tan in my mind's eye. But who needs to stay the hell away from the tanning booth, dammit.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Chronically underestimating the time it takes...
It's Thursday. I am home. The girls went out the door this morning with a huge kiss on the cheek and a poster. Each bore a different sort of school project poster that the girl, Richie, and I had *successfully* collaborated on without any tears from anyone. Vivian's project is "100 Days of School: One Hundred Leaves" and Mazie's is a visual report of Five Children and It.
Yesterday I did about half of what I meant to do. I wasn't idle; each thing took twice as long as I had budgeted for it. I cleaned the girls' room, getting rid of about four cubic feet of knick-knacks as I went. I busted several of Vivian's hordes of tiny things - so cute...and asked her to consolidate them into one (Vivian reacts poorly to unauthorized disturbances of her tiny things). Vivian's personal specialty is to encase things in other things. She's on the committee. Mazie is more about abandoned knitwork projects and hording books behind her futon.
I also cleaned the kitchen in a way I had forgotten could be done. Observe our shining stovetop, our spotless - and crudless - cabinet interiors, and our greaseless oven. Later today, you'll be able to observe our clean fridge and shining rice cooker. Oh, to make new again. So I guess I've been renovating in a very small way.
But the reason I'm writing about this is that my getting done approximately half of what I meant to is related to something much larger about this med school journey. I have chronically underestimated how much time and effort any one thing would take. Interviews were no different. I managed to believe that a one- or two-night stay in an unfamiliar hotel / city meant that all the time that I was not actually interviewing would be work time. Same for any airport down-time, flight time, in-between travel turnaround time. When I have never traveled like that before. At the holidays. With a family at home, at the holidays. In reality, each interview was a flurry of timeliness struggles, business transactions, physical hardship (baggage without rolling wheels - walking with overstuffed duffel), and navigation mishaps. I would arrive home, having had a sum total of about 45 minutes of actual "down time" on my interview, which I would have invariably used to check the weather and try the different HVAC settings available to me. NO WORK GOT DONE. So in this case, my overestimation was infinite. My ratio is something like this:
Planned work: actual work done = Something:0
Something/0 = infinity
Infinite overestimation
This equation (or my frank folly) forced me to jam my research paper into about a week and a half, which meant for a very busy week and a half and a rushed research paper that would have benefited from more trades between my advisor and me.
Here's the thing: I look at a challenge and say, "Nyeh. I can do that." And then I get to the thing and it's really hard. Not just that, it also takes a long time. So I just go and go and go and then it gets done. And I am all unshowered and I haven't exercised in weeks, and my reaction time is slow, and one eye is a lot droopier than the other because this is what happens to me when I am really tired.
And then...I forget that it unfolded that way just in time to underestimate time and effort when the next challenge arises. The key is, part of forging (get it? Forget / forge) ahead with this doctor thing in the first place is not knowing / quickly forgetting how much it demands. And then I am almost always glad and proud on the back end of whatever challenge happened, as long as nothing fell apart in the meanwhile (sometimes we are not so lucky). And I always remember that I am far from the only one who's sacrificing - there are many others.
Moral: the next best thing to being a medical knowledge / research acumen / super mom savant is having a poor memory for hardship and a resilient family:
Yesterday I did about half of what I meant to do. I wasn't idle; each thing took twice as long as I had budgeted for it. I cleaned the girls' room, getting rid of about four cubic feet of knick-knacks as I went. I busted several of Vivian's hordes of tiny things - so cute...and asked her to consolidate them into one (Vivian reacts poorly to unauthorized disturbances of her tiny things). Vivian's personal specialty is to encase things in other things. She's on the committee. Mazie is more about abandoned knitwork projects and hording books behind her futon.
I also cleaned the kitchen in a way I had forgotten could be done. Observe our shining stovetop, our spotless - and crudless - cabinet interiors, and our greaseless oven. Later today, you'll be able to observe our clean fridge and shining rice cooker. Oh, to make new again. So I guess I've been renovating in a very small way.
But the reason I'm writing about this is that my getting done approximately half of what I meant to is related to something much larger about this med school journey. I have chronically underestimated how much time and effort any one thing would take. Interviews were no different. I managed to believe that a one- or two-night stay in an unfamiliar hotel / city meant that all the time that I was not actually interviewing would be work time. Same for any airport down-time, flight time, in-between travel turnaround time. When I have never traveled like that before. At the holidays. With a family at home, at the holidays. In reality, each interview was a flurry of timeliness struggles, business transactions, physical hardship (baggage without rolling wheels - walking with overstuffed duffel), and navigation mishaps. I would arrive home, having had a sum total of about 45 minutes of actual "down time" on my interview, which I would have invariably used to check the weather and try the different HVAC settings available to me. NO WORK GOT DONE. So in this case, my overestimation was infinite. My ratio is something like this:
Planned work: actual work done = Something:0
Something/0 = infinity
Infinite overestimation
This equation (or my frank folly) forced me to jam my research paper into about a week and a half, which meant for a very busy week and a half and a rushed research paper that would have benefited from more trades between my advisor and me.
Here's the thing: I look at a challenge and say, "Nyeh. I can do that." And then I get to the thing and it's really hard. Not just that, it also takes a long time. So I just go and go and go and then it gets done. And I am all unshowered and I haven't exercised in weeks, and my reaction time is slow, and one eye is a lot droopier than the other because this is what happens to me when I am really tired.
And then...I forget that it unfolded that way just in time to underestimate time and effort when the next challenge arises. The key is, part of forging (get it? Forget / forge) ahead with this doctor thing in the first place is not knowing / quickly forgetting how much it demands. And then I am almost always glad and proud on the back end of whatever challenge happened, as long as nothing fell apart in the meanwhile (sometimes we are not so lucky). And I always remember that I am far from the only one who's sacrificing - there are many others.
Moral: the next best thing to being a medical knowledge / research acumen / super mom savant is having a poor memory for hardship and a resilient family:
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| Researching the elusive parking lot sago palm |
Friday, January 4, 2013
Kitty School
The premise of Kitty School is basically the same idea as a homeschool co-op. Both of the girls were Kitty teachers, and they each had several kitty children. They took turns teaching subjects that ranged from extremely academic (kitty math) to purely physical (walking on your hind legs). I overheard Vivian say to one of her kitties, "Now it's time to practice walking quietly." Mazie was even teaching her kitties some theatrical skills: "Here's how you do a demanding Meow: MOWW. MOWW."
Here is some further transcript:
M: I teach the basic skills and you...no, wait, you...
V: I teach the "Better at Being a Cat" group. (time passes in silence for a bit)
V: Now let's practice being quiet...while walking on FOUR feet. Wait. Levanika's old enough that she doesn't have to go to school.
M: You get to go outside.
V: No. Recess is basically were everyone decides to sleep or eat.
M: All mine sleep (giggles). Wait- first I teach Snips and Tabs The Basics, and then you can teach them how to be Better at Being a Cat.
M: And you each get a child-
V: No, you don't. I'm your assistant teacher. That's why all my children HAVE to come. Levanika really wants to ride on your back.
M: Okay! Here, IN, not ON! (stuffing stuffed cats into her clothes). Mama! (to me) Look! The Twins are in my stomach fur! Levanika is on my back! And Vivian's other kids are in my tail! I stuck the kids in my fur so they wouldn't get lost.
V: (laughing hysterically)
V: Cindy is absent today. (Cindy is our real live cat)
M: -snickers- Yeah, she didn't want to stay.
M: We need a bowl.
V: Why?
M:(silence)
V: Why?
M:(silence)
Me: Mazie, why do you need a bowl? Please tell Vivian. If you don't answer your sister, it may incline her to fuss. That's frustrating.
M: Oh, Mama. It's lunch time.
I got one really interesting picture of Vivian (dressed as a "Tuxedo" cat in a boy's vest):
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